


What Goes Up

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series. Sammy and Dean play in Pastor Jim's old barn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Goes Up

"Is he in there?" 

Ducking down to shush his brother, Dean shoved the seven-year-old away as he tried to see for himself. "Yes, now quiet or he'll hear us." Peering back over the windowsill, he saw his target. Pastor Jim walked back and forth behind the pulpit, practicing this week's sermon. "Let's go."

Sammy grinned.

Rolling his eyes, Dean pushed his brother again. "Move it."

At eleven years of age, Dean thought he was old enough to help on the hunts, and he resented being left behind. Their father had already been gone for most of a week, and there was no telling how much longer he would be. Dean and Sammy had already rummaged through the house, trying to find treasures in its nooks and crannies. They were at the age where curiosity and boredom took advantage of little boys. 

Dean wanted to go on his own adventure. His plan: go explore the barn behind Pastor Jim's house. Technically, they weren't allowed back there. They'd been told on other visits that it was dangerous, falling apart. But it hadn't been mentioned this time, so Dean took that as tacit permission. Sammy, constantly on his heels, would let him go nowhere alone. 

The large door squeaked on its hinges as Dean pulled it open. They froze, wondering if Pastor Jim had heard it from the chapel. After a long, tense minute, no one appeared or called for them, so they continued inside. 

The sun was trying to shine through the high, dirty windows, casting a hazy glow inside the barn. The air was stuffy and still. Dean wrinkled his nose at the pervading smells; dust and mold fought for a sneeze. He scanned the stark shadows. Stalls and shelves lined either end, loaded with ancient tools, gardening supplies, and old paint cans. Hay was strewn everywhere, a large pile of it along the back wall.

Dean moved farther inside, Sammy just a little behind him and to his left, classic flanking position. Even in their games, they couldn't ignore Dad's teachings. Dean walked to a ladder in the middle of the open space and followed it up with his eyes, seeing it disappear into some sort of loft. 

He smiled. "I have an idea." Dean climbed the ladder, walking carefully along the rafter to the far end of the barn, arms out to balance himself. 

Sammy watched him, eyes wide. 

Dean shouted, "Cowabunga!" and jumped off, landing with a _whoomph_ in the pile of hay.

"My turn!" Sammy yelled, and was halfway up the ladder before Dean could extract himself from the hay. 

"Be careful," Dean called up to his brother. Anxiously he watched and started to doubt the wisdom of his plan. Sammy didn't quite have the grace of his brother yet, still awkward with his growing frame.

Sammy slowed down, getting more and more nervous the higher he went. 

"It's okay if you want to come down!" Dean said. 

The little boy clutched the ladder tighter. "No," he said in a shaky voice, "I want to do this." Sammy finished climbing and crawled over the top onto the loft. He stood back from the edge, so Dean could barely see the top of his head. After a moment, Sammy moved forward, and then scuttled along the rafter to the end. 

"Just make sure you jump into the middle of it," Dean said. 

"I know," Sammy said defensively. "I'm not stupid." 

Dean let him get away with the backtalk because he could see his brother was scared. "I'll come up and get you if you want me to, Sammy."  
Sammy swallowed convulsively but shook his head. Another long moment and he seemed to work up his courage. He jumped, giving a little squeal as he fell, and landed safely in the stack. 

Dean ran to dig him out. 

"That was awesome!" Sammy flicked hay out of his shaggy hair. "Let's do it again."

"We need to do it one at a time; that ladder looks wobbly."

"Okay. It's your turn."

Dean raced up and jumped off, followed quickly by his brother. They cycled a few more times until it was Sammy's turn again. Dean stood at the bottom, brushing straw off his clothes, when he heard a loud crack. "What was that?"

Before Sammy could answer, the bottom half of the ladder thunked down and tipped over, barely missing Dean. Looking up, he saw Sammy clinging to the bottom rung of what remained, legs flailing in the air about fifteen feet up. 

"Dean!" Sammy's fear-filled cry filled the barn.

"Stay there, Sammy! I'll go get Pastor Jim!"

"No, don't leave me; I'm gonna fall." Sammy's dangling legs kicked rapidly. "I can't hold on!"

"You have to."

"I can't," Sammy cried.

Dean looked underneath Sammy. It was just the hard, wooden floor. If Sammy fell, he'd probably die. His little body wouldn't stand a chance. Dean flashed his eyes around, catching sight of the hay. He yelled, "Hold on, I've got an idea." 

Quickly, Dean scooped up as much as he could hold and ran over, dumping it on the ground beneath his brother. Back and forth he went, countless times, until nothing remained but the monotony of his mission. "Hold on, hold on!" he yelled all the while. 

Finally, the sequence was broken by a fractured, "I'm slipping."

Dean looked at the pile beneath his brother and hoped it was enough. "Let go, Sammy."

Sammy reacted instantly, releasing his grip. Gravity reacted as well. There was a deafening thud and a dull snap as Sammy hit. 

"Sammy? Sammy!" Swiftly brushing away the hay, Dean found his brother. His left arm was bent in an awkward position. Dean could see Sammy's chest going up and down, but he wouldn't wake up. Blood pooled at the back of his head. Dad had taught them head wounds bleed a lot, but he'd also told them every head wound could be serious. There was only one thing to do. 

"I'll be right back, Sammy, I promise," Dean whispered brokenly before he ran out the front of the barn as fast as he could, screaming for Pastor Jim at the top of his lungs. 

The man met him before Dean was even halfway to the chapel. Somehow he deciphered Dean's terrified ramblings and ordered him into the house to call 911 while he checked on Sammy. 

Dean's arms pumped as he ran down the hill and in the back door. Trying to slow his breathing, he punched the buttons with shaky hands. He told them what had happened, then waited at the house for them to arrive. Dean didn't want them to take any longer than necessary to get to Sammy…and he was afraid to face his brother. Afraid to see him hurt, afraid of even worse. 

As he continued to blame himself, the ambulance arrived, and Dean led the paramedics to the barn. Pastor Jim explained Sammy's condition before moving out of the way to let the medics do their job. He stood behind Dean, his hands on Dean's shoulders, but Dean felt nothing, totally focused on the image of his broken brother. 

The medics quickly checked Sammy's vitals, circled his neck with a brace, secured his injured arm against his body, and readied him for transport. Sammy didn't wake up, and Dean tried not to think what that meant.

From somewhere far away he heard Pastor Jim ask if he wanted to go in the ambulance with them, but Dean shook his head. He didn't deserve to be a big brother. He had let this happen, had made it happen. It had been his idea, and Sammy would never trust him again. 

If Pastor Jim was surprised at Dean's reluctance to ride in the ambulance, he didn't show it. Instead he tried to put an arm around Dean as they walked to the car, but Dean shook it off. He didn't deserve any comfort, not when Sammy was hurt. 

The ride to the hospital was long and uncomfortable, and when they arrived, Sammy was nowhere to be seen. 

Pastor Jim pushed Dean into one of the waiting room chairs, instructing him to stay there as if there was somewhere else he could go. There was mutterings about paperwork and calling their father, but nothing mattered to Dean. He just wanted to make sure Sammy was okay. He sat alone, head down, legs bouncing while he waited.

And waited.

After a time, Pastor Jim joined him, tried to talk to him—console him—but Dean just looked straight ahead to the doors where Sammy had to be. Everything inside Dean was telling him he had to see his brother, but he couldn't. He couldn't face him. He'd let him down. His job was to watch out for Sammy, but he'd led him into danger. 

Pastor Jim stood as a doctor approached. Dean remained sitting. Words floated over him: broken arm, bruised ribs, stitched head wound, staying overnight for observation. But the most important aspect came through loud and clear—Sammy would be fine. 

A hand patted his knee, but Dean didn't look up until Pastor Jim cupped his jaw and lifted. "Sammy wants to see you."

Dean started to shake his head, but Pastor Jim's hold tightened. 

"Sammy _needs_ to see you."

No matter what he felt, Dean could never say no to his little brother. He stood, and let himself be gently maneuvered into the elevator and down a hall. They stopped in front of a door. Pastor Jim nudged him forward. "I'll wait out here. Your father should be here soon."

Dean nodded mindlessly. He knew whatever punishment his father came up with wouldn't be enough. He deserved so much worse. Taking a deep breath, Dean walked through the door, relief flooding him when he saw Sammy was asleep. Guilt followed. 

He crept to the side of the bed. Looking down at his brother, Dean checked him out, seeing for himself that his brother was okay. A bandage peeked out from the back of Sammy's head, and a white cast encased his left arm from elbow to wrist. Sammy was curled up, hunched in, his casted arm held against his body. 

Sammy's eyelids slowly fluttered open. It took a second for him to focus on Dean, but when he did, he smiled. "Dean?"

"Hey, kiddo," Dean forced out past the lump in his throat.

"You put hay down."

Dean jerked. Sammy had sounded surprised. "Well, yeah," Dean said. "I had to put something down to break your fall. What did you think I was doing?"

"I couldn't see," Sammy said. "I was just trying to hold on. Then you told me to let go so I did."

Dean staggered back. "You didn't know what I was doing?"

Sammy shook his head slowly, wincing as the bandage pulled. "Nuh-uh."

"Then…then why did you let go?"

Sammy's eyes started to flutter; he was fading fast. "You told me to," he answered matter-of-factly.

"What?" Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I knew I'd be okay." Sammy yawned. "You were there." He held his uninjured hand out to Dean. 

Just like that, the sour feeling residing in Dean's stomach began to fade. He grabbed his brother's hand like a lifeline—probably too tight—but Sammy didn't flinch or complain. He just pulled Dean closer. 

"Stay with me." Something must've shown on Dean's face, because Sammy added, "Please." 

Dean snorted. "'Course I will. Who knows what kind of trouble you'd get into on your own?"

Sammy smiled as his eyes closed. "That's why you watch out for me," he slurred.

Dean could already hear Sammy's deep breathing as he answered, "I'll always watch out for you, Sammy. Always." 

Carefully, Dean sat on the bed next to his brother and watched him fall asleep. His heart sang, his fear loosened. Sammy still loved him, still trusted him. Dean knew he'd get in trouble for going in the barn, but he didn't care. He could take anything as long as he still had Sammy.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my favorite Stephen King story "Last Rung on the Ladder."


End file.
